


Touch

by KirstieJ



Series: we're never getting older [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Drunkenness, First Kiss, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirstieJ/pseuds/KirstieJ
Summary: All I wanna do is go home with you,but I know I’m outta my mind– Touch, ShuraKent and Jack take a midnight walk during a party.





	

Kent’s giggling, and it’s quickly becoming one of Jack’s favourite noises ever.

Kent can barely walk straight, but Jack doesn’t mind. He’s taller than Kent so it’s easy for him to help Kent out.

Kent is mumbling something into Jack’s arm, but Jack can’t understand it. Honestly, he doesn’t even know if it’s French or English at this point. It doesn’t matter, because it’s being punctuated with Kent’s adorable laughter.

Still, they can’t walk on forever. Sometimes Jack wishes they could, in the middle of the night when they’re taking a break from whatever crowd they’re with. Honestly, he probably likes their midnight walks more than the other parts of the night anyway. The loud music and drinking isn’t his favourite scene, even though Kent loves that shit.

“Kenny,” Jack says, a loud whisper. “Kenny,” he repeats, slowing down. “I think we should go back soon.”

“Awh, Jack, no,” Kent says. “I don’t wanna go back yet. Don’t make me.”

“Okay. But, we shouldn’t go any further, maybe?”

“That’s fine. Let’s just sit here,” Kent says, pulling on Jack’s arm and swinging his body weight forward, probably not on purpose. Jack holds on to him, and they lower their bodies to sit on the side of the road.

“You are _fucked up_ ,” Jack whispers, loudly.

“So are you,” Kent giggles, pushing his face into Jack’s neck. Jack has one arm around him.

“Not as bad as you,” Jack insists. “You’re out of it.”

“No I’m not,” Kent grumbles. “I’ve been drunker before.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not wasted right now,” Jack tells him with a little smile.

“You must be drunk, too. You never argue with me,” Kent tells him, his breath on Jack’s face.

“What’s that mean? Sure I do,” Jack says, stiffening his shoulders.

“Not like this, ‘s different,” Kent tells him, his eyes looking warm and fond in the low light of the streetlamp they’re under.

“I don’t understand,” Jack says, lips tugging down. Kent’s hand is placed on Jack’s chest and his face is so near.

Kent entirely ignores that as he catches Jack’s eyes. “Your heart is racing,” Kent murmurs, pressing his hand harder against him.

“No it’s not,” Jack lies, as if Kent can’t _feel_ his heartbeat right now. He’s such an idiot.

“Dude, I can fucking feel it,” Kent says, but he’s not angry, he’s laughing. “Whassasmatter?” Kent slurs at him, lips turning up into a coy smile.

“Nothing,” Jack says, quickly. Kent is nuzzling his face against Jack’s cheek. “What the fuck are you doing, Parson?”

“Your face is so soft, man,” Kent mutters.

“So?” Jack says, eyes wide and full of confusion. Kent gets weird sometimes when he’s drunk. Actually, Kent is pretty weird all of the time, at least when they’re alone. Jack’s always liked that, that he gets to see a side of Kent that others, presumably, don’t. It makes him feel special, but in a different way. And while he does still feel some pressure to not fuck up with Kent, it’s not the same as the pressure to not fuck up with hockey. He just wants to impress Kent, be a good friend and not get left behind, which he thinks might be normal. Pressure with hockey is overwhelming, all-consuming, like a boulder on his chest keeping him pinned to the ground.

“It feels awesome,” Kent says.

“Are you sure you’re just drunk? You’re not high or some shit, are you?” Jack asks, and feels Kent shake his head at him.

“Nah, man, just liquor tonight. The cold air is helping, I think,” Kent says. And he does sound a bit more sober than he did the rest of their walk, but Jack’s not convinced. 

Kent lifts his head up and looks at him again, and Jack feels the air around him still. He’s seen that look on Kent’s face, before. A small smile, lidded eyes, like he wants something. It’s usually only in flashes, shared glimpses that pass in a moment. On the bus, listening to music on Kent’s mp3 player, in one of their rooms, once on the bench during a game. As well, he’s seen it before when Kent’s about to kiss a girl from their high school, as he slides his hand up some chick’s skirt at another party, as he winks at an older cashier who probably thinks he’s some gross kid. It’s a look of fondness, of brief longing, of wanting someone. It scares Jack, so he looks away, but Kent’s putting his face in Jack’s neck now that that’s an open space again.

“Zimms,” Kent mutters, and Jack thinks he can feel Kent’s lips moving against his neck. Jack bites down on his lip, hard, as he tries to figure out whether Kent is kissing him right now or not. Maybe he’s just mumbling stupid shit in French. He does that, sometimes, just repeats words he thinks sound cool. Pamplemoose, agrafeuse, jeunesse, things like that. Kent is weird and Jack likes him anyway.

Jack shuts his eyes when he feels Kent bite him. The sensation goes straight through him and he holds back a noise that threatens to escape his throat. They’re out in the middle of the street, on the side of the road at 1:30 in the morning, two drunken underage kids all alone in the world. And Kent is kissing his neck.

Kent’s hand finds his own a second later and Jack squeezes it, hard, like he’s holding on for dear life. He tilts his head just a bit as Kent starts to suck on the skin under his chin.

“Kenny,” Jack breathes another moment later and snap his eyes open. “Kenny, we can’t.”

“Why not?” Kent whines in his ear, loosening his grip on Jack’s hand only to squeeze him again.

“First of all, we’re in public,” Jack hisses. “You’re wasted, I’m still buzzing, we have to go back to the party.”

Kent just stares at him, unimpressed. “Jack, I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks,” he says, voice quiet. “Being drunk has done nothing but give me the balls to try, I promise you.”

Jack just shakes his head, “You might feel different tomorrow. I don’t care. We’re still out in the middle of the road. A car could come by any moment now. What if one of the families sees us?”

“Why would they be out this late?”

Jack just glares at him.

“C’mon, Zimms. We’re totally alone. It’s, like... you and me, just us. Us against the world,” Kent promises him, hand still uncomfortable tight on Jack’s.

Jack takes a breath and shutters. He shuts his eyes, then opens them again. He has no idea where he gets the idea, but he says, “Kiss me, then.”

Kent looks taken aback.

“If you’ve wanted to do it for so long, then just fucking kiss m-“ Jack’s angry rambling is cut off by a pair of lips on his own. Jack is somehow startled, despite demanding it, but he doesn’t pull away. It takes him a beat to kiss back, but he starts, and then Kent is pulling away.

“Happy?” Kent asks him, having the audacity to smirk.

Jack takes in a deep breath through his nose. He nods, slowly, then chokes out a, “Yeah. I am.”

That makes Kent blush, and Jack can’t believe it. Kent lifts his arms around Jack’s shoulders and leans on him again, laughing a little. He’s giggling, again, and Jack just loops his arms around Kent’s waist, shaking his head. Jack laughs, too, soft and airy.

“We’re fucked,” Kent whispers, so low Jack almost misses it.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. Eventually, Jack gets the two of them up and they arrive back at the party in time for it to wind down, then take their places on the floor of the attic with a few of their other teammates. Jack and Kent stare at each other for a while before they go to sleep, neither of them making any further mention of their walk together. It’s a secret they share, now, and they both know to keep it that way.


End file.
